The Fight for You
by Yorke0593
Summary: Rose/Scorpius. Images of Rose refuse to leave Scorpius' mind as he remembers all that they were. From apathy, to intrigue, to significance. A clandestine meeting to a functioning relationship to the ruins of one. Hogwarts 5th year-Post grad.


"to fight for each minute is to  
fight for what is possible within  
yourself,  
so that your life and your death  
will not be like  
theirs."

-Charles Bukowski

Images burn into his mind. Sitting there, imprinting on the inside of his eyelids. Reliving every moment, until his blood runs cold and his thoughts sit stumped. The way his memory is triggered; the ease of photographic senses.

The most potent of which, was the sight of her watching him walk away.

The fight was all he had ever known. To forge a human connection, to happen upon that unknown territory. Trying to find something worth sharing, worth knowing. Her intrigue made for a very distant relation.

And it was as complex as it was simple.

He had no interest in the world. Apathy cradled his ideas, clouded his judgment. Whether one thing was more advanced than another was human opinion, something that never had a place within a pragmatist.

He was so unlike his father. Unimpressed by status. He found it unnecessary to categorize worth, couldn't find the time to make words for insults. When everyone was the same, just different facets of the same mold, there was really no place for superiority. He had inherited his father's razor sharp bone structure and icy blonde hair. He was brooding, but gentle, entirely lacking the intimidation of his father.

She was so like her parents. Emotionally driven, intelligent, average beauty with more entrancing features. She was relatively oblivious to the emotions of others, she was stubborn, unflinching. She made her judgments, stereotyping, placing within categories. She was passionately in love with passion.

He was devoid of it.

He happened upon her in the same way he happened upon his fellow classmates, by pure and sudden coincidence. She was told to look out for his scandal. He saw her for what she was, without rose-tinted glasses or preconceptions.

She lived for the challenge.

It was fifth year, as he brushed his hair from his eyes in the library, scanning the pages of his textbook mundanely, approaching the end of an essay. She was sitting down an indiscreet aisle, positioned so that she could watch him consider the words he was writing.

Recognition sought after her contemplation, she could see the tact with which he placed his words. She did not see the carelessness that he otherwise portrayed, nor did she see the callous brashness that she had been told to expect. To her, he looked like merely a boy sitting down a row of books. There was no family nonsense or expectation. No overwhelming emotional gravitation.

The greatest feat, was just that Rose came to view Scorpius as simply human.

A month passed with no differences, Rose began to stake out her ability to read the recluse. She never saw him hold pleasantries, nor did she see him be rude. They were in several common classes, her robes dawned in gold and red, his in green and silver. That much was to be expected.

They were partnered in potions. It was little of an issue to be discussed. There were few words to say. They completed their assignments, they spoke little, each entirely aware of the moves the other would make.

When she turned too quickly the smell of chamomile would filter through his senses. And in little ways she began to become significant. There were fragments of moments, when she would tether him to reality. Small seconds that he would rather focus than drift.

And it was in no way intentional.

He knew nothing of her life. He knew nothing of anyone's lives. He heard the gossip, was not consumed by it. Sheltered. He had been with girls. He had seen their bodies, felt the thrust of carnal energy. But he had never been affected by it. Sex was entirely separate from thought. He was rarely the initiator, and rarely the one to walk away. As the physical energy was released, he looked down upon himself from a standby. Separate from his body.

O.W.L.s approached fifth years in the last few months of term. Scorpius spent more time holed up in the library, less in his common room. He sometimes visited the astronomy tower, but rarely could stay for the greater part of an hour before students out of bed would sneak to fraternize.

Rose would spend her time curled into her common room couch, before joined by her family of cousins and siblings. It was exhausting. Especially when she had her own work to complete. She resorted to the library as well.

Yet, Scorpius' presence did little in the way for her schoolwork. What once was merely an interest in watching the boy work, had become a fascination with his lack of felicity or fancy. She wished to see something greater in his eyes, wanted to know what he looked like, removed from the veil of his shelter.

She wanted all of this, and would in no way act upon it. Still one thing became abundantly clear, Scorpius was becoming less of a boy and more of a challenge.

Unbeknownst to her, Scorpius was aware of her presence. Less fascinated than she, he still stopped to consider her individual facets. Her blind visions were his greatest assets.

This continued for two weeks. Students filtering in and out of the library. Leaving only Scorpius and Rose as consistent inhabitants. One day her coordination got the better of her. She knocked into one book on a shelf, which clattered loudly to the floor, shattering their late evening silence truce. He glanced up from his seat to her, she was merely ten feet away, looking straight back at him.

"Sorry," she mumbled, rushing to retrieve the book, but looking back for his retaliation of words. He said nothing, but felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards. She saw his half-smile, and she half-smiled herself, pulling her unruly hair behind her ear.

The next night, she was late. He had been studying charms work for two hours before she entered, and he could not recognize the anticipation he felt while he undoubtedly waited for her presence.

She blew through the door and he looked up, catching her eye as she went to fill her spot at her regular table. As she did so, something rooted her to the spot she was standing. She made a concise decision in that moment.

The flush of her cheeks was something he would not forget. An image in his mind. The flustered look of Rose, differentiating between two paths.

In a sudden movement, she cleared her throat, changed her path, and sat swiftly across from him at his table. He looked at her expectantly, wondering the reason for her curse.

"Hi," was all she said.

She opened one of many textbooks, knowing full well that she was ahead of the homework schedule by two weeks. Still, she wished to busy herself.

"I... do you... I need the transfiguration notes from yesterday if you have them," she said regarding Scorpius with a hesitant look in her eye. It took moments for him to recognize that she had been speaking to him, but once he did, he reacted with haste.

"Of course," he said, digging through his bag through parchment after parchment. Assignments completed two weeks early. He handed her the notes for which she had asked.

"Thank you, Scorpius," she spoke curtly. It was the first time she regarded him by name.

"My pleasure, Rose," he echoed, enjoying the way she squirmed against his words. He didn't know the effect he had on people, or the way his voice was dancing across her mind.

It wasn't that he thought much differently about her. Or that he found company to be anymore intriguing, but knowing someone was on the other end of the table made him feel less like he was defined by his father's precedent.

Not that he hated his father, he thought that his father had the qualities of a noble man, but he did not know the circumstances of the war, nor did he recognize his father's role within it.

Rose was fidgeting. Discontent with the interaction they had shared. While more words than they had spoken in the past, she felt as if the wall destroyed meant that they could have some greater conversation. But while she had memorized the actions of the boy in front of her she knew little of his actual life outside of his father.

"Why are you so quiet?" she asked after a few more minutes of silence which was dragging her down.

"Why are _you_ so quiet?" he drawled after her.

"I'm not quiet, I just never have anything to say to you," she answered honestly, trying to bore the holes into his mind that he managed to do with every glance.

"Did it ever cross your mind that I have less to say to you?" and it came out more brash than he had meant it, but he didn't know what could or could not be said. He was abandoning his social premise by bothering to respond at all.

She made a noise that sounded clearly of discontent and he found it comical that she was put off by his nonchalance.

"Was there something you wanted to say?" he attempted, forcing out each word, and they were no longer dancing in her mind, but felt more like snags on a sweater.

"Of course not. I don't know you enough to have anything to say," she answered half in truth. She had things she wanted to say, but nothing she wanted to say specifically to him.

He nodded slightly. It made sense. He glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past nine. Earlier than he usually left, but not obscenely early. He began packing books into his bag, not looking at her any longer.

He stood, slinging the bag over his shoulder and began to depart before remembering his notes.

"We have double potions tomorrow. You can keep the notes until then if you'd like," he said, trying to smooth over the awkward first interaction.

And while she knew that she neither needed the notes, nor would use them, she nodded and tucked them away into her school book.

That night she stared at the imperfect messy scrawl on his homework, and wondered why she had bothered to speak at all.

Weeks of silence passed. And then again, they were over. O.W.L.s were closer, the library shared by more people, and Scorpius and Rose sat two tables from each other.

He looked up as he heard a loud bang against Rose's table. The image of her sitting, exasperatedly at the table, ears red, huffing angrily was another he would not let go. She smacked her head against the table.

"Problem?" he asked, not attempting to become involved, but not willing to watch her kill herself.

"You don't even care," she whined, turning her head away from him.

"You're acting like a child," he said, hoping that she would react visibly enough to sit up. He assessed her temper correctly as she angrily glared at him.

"Well, I certainly don't know how you handle all of this so quietly. I've talked to Albus at least four times about this ruddy false memory charm, but it's not like he's much help," she grumbled.

"Solve the problem," he told her straight forwardly, knowing she was capable.

He was quite infuriating when he wanted to be. But he looked at the determination in her eye and he found it hard not to be enveloped. More images.

The rest of fifth year passed quickly, O.W.L.s were little of a problem for Scorpius or Rose, who departed with full scale "O"s apart from one "E" for both. As they stepped off the platform for summer, Scorpius was compelled to wish her off, regardless of relation status.

He caught her a few feet off the train. "Bye," he whispered, picking up his trunk which was enchanted to be feather light. She was caught off guard by his forwardness, and she softened at his attempt. "See you next year, Scorpius."

Time does not stand still. No moment will ever stop the time or motions of the world around. He took time for granted.

Sixth year came on September 1st, with no change in routine. No change except that Rose greeted Scorpius upon seeing him.

"Scorpius!" she emitted before remembering to alter her tones. She still didn't know the boy, but she couldn't deny that she had considered writing to him the entire summer.

There was this small place inside himself that Scorpius held his most ashamed thoughts. One of them being the fact that he wished to beam when hearing the tone of Rose's voice call out his name. It was potent enough that he knew he couldn't ignore her any longer.

"Rose," he breathed as she came closer, uncertain of what to do. She stopped a foot away from him, excitement morphing into embarrassment. They were saved by Albus who threw his arm around "Rosie" and walked her onto the train.

Yes, Scorpius remembered moments of their sixth year when he could call Rose a friend. At first it was nothing more than two people getting to know each other. And then the distance of a foot felt longer, and an instance felt longer, and everything was started to register as... longer.

"Quiz me," she ordered tossing her book at Scorpius, who barely caught it and opened to a random page. Rose was sprawled across a couch in the library, Scorpius sat opposite from her in a wooden chair.

"You already know all of this," he said, and she began to interrupt. "And before you argue, I know you know all of this because I quiz you every night and every night you know all of it."

"There's a first time for everything," she shrugged.

It was odd to Scorpius that he could sit so close to her and be at ease. The contact, the connection, it came much more naturally than he had been expecting. There was little rigidity anymore, and only sometimes did he have to pause and reflect upon his words before he spoke them. They had reached an understanding.

Their sixth year they were both selected to be prefects. Professor McGonagall assigned their night patrols together, realizing that the little Weasley girl brought out the dead light in Scorpius.

And it was light. Lighter than he had felt before.

"Why don't you call me Rosie?" she asked one night on patrol, as she flit from one side of the corridor to the next.

"Should I call you Rosie?" he countered.

"Everyone else does," she pointed out.

"I don't want to be like everyone else," he realized the statement was more true than he had ever wished. He remembered a time when all people, including himself were simply multiple facets, none shining brighter.

"I don't want you to be either," she truly didn't. She preferred the quiet friend that only she had broken down. The attractive boy that had one too many partners, but no one to talk to in the school.

"Alright then," he concluded, beginning to walk again.

Christmas break came and went, and then studies became more serious. Rose began seeing Lorcan Scamander in mid-February. She made time to come around the library once an evening for Scorpius.

"Explain to me the situation with Scamander," he said brashly, sitting next to her on their couch in the library.

"I don't know," she said, resting her head on her hands and sighing that Scorpius was bothering to ask relationship questions when she knew he wouldn't understand either way. "He was at my house almost all of break, because our parents are friendly. He's nice. We sort of hit it off," his eyes made her doubt her own judgment.

"Sort of?" Scorpius kept humor in his tone, best as he could.

"Yes. It wasn't immediate, but most things aren't. I like him. He likes me," she answered going through the logical progression of dating.

"It's easy," he concluded.

"What do you mean, easy?" she questioned.

"You don't have to work for it, that's all," he said innocently.

"Are you insinuating that it's easier than an alternative?" she asked, always wondering in the back of her mind...

"No. Just stating the obvious," he dismissed before flicking his quill at her. She laughed and kicked him lightly.

He didn't let on.

Patrols became more frustrating for Scorpius. She was never more than two minutes late. But she rushed to meet him, her tie hanging loosely, a stocking misplaced. And he knew she was with Lorcan. And he knew that she didn't care enough about Lorcan to be with him.

"You're a mess," he said to her on a particular patrol night as she was officially one minute late.

"Well, Scorpius you've never said anything so nice to me," she grinned, attempting to play off of his rude comment.

He didn't laugh.

"Did something happen?" she asked.

"No."

"Then why...? Alright if you want to be grumpy, be grumpy. I'm used to it, really," she reasoned, still attempting to lighten the mood.

He wanted to be susceptible, but he was angry. Actual anger. The type of anger he wasn't used to feeling. He didn't respond. They walked the length of one corridor, Scorpius three paces ahead of Rose. She reached out and grabbed his hand urging him to stop.

"Alright, I give," she conceded, "Please tell me what's wrong."

He noticed that she hadn't dropped his hand. He wondered if she'd noticed.

"It's not what's wrong, more what isn't right," he reasoned, stepping towards her.

"I hate when you get cryptic," she whined.

"And I hate when you whine about things that are right in front of your face. I don't like Scamander. You know that. Pardon me for being grumpy," he said, making an honest, but failed attempt at sincerity. He dropped her hand and went back to walking.

"Wait, are you serious?"

"Please, Rose. I don't want to do this. Let's finish rounds and go to bed."

"Explain," she commanded.

He was beginning to get worked up and it was a foreign feeling. He was used to having much tighter control on anger. It felt base and adolescent.

"I don't have to," he growled.

"You never do this. You never skirt around answers. You're cryptic, but you never hide anything," she said in the same nasally nag. He hated that tone.

"I'm not hiding anything that you want to hear."

"Rubbish. Have you ever even talked to Lorcan? Do you know why you don't like him? Or is it the same drawling apathy with which you treat everyone in this school?"

"Not everyone," he pointed out.

"Right. Not me."

He sighed. She heard.

"Are you... jealous?" she questioned, dawning in realization.

"You're being insufferable."

"Answer me," she pressed.

"I am not jealous of Lorcan Scamander. I think you could find better company to keep, but by all means, frolic through the fields," his grumpiness was verging on meanness.

"I think you are jealous," she said flirtatiously stepping towards Scorpius, poking fun in her own right.

"I don't get jealous," he growled in a low huff.

Fear glimpsed through her eyes before she shook it off. She was determined to break him down for her own pleasure. Not thinking of consequences. She stepped forward until he had backed himself into a wall.

"Scorpius Malfoy you have totally outdone yourself on this one," she put her hands on his chest and pushed him so that he bounced lightly against the wall.

"Rose..." he warned.

"Because if you are jealous, that means this entire thing has very little to do with Lorcan and more to do with me."

"I can assure you that neither issue is pressing in my mind," he kept his tone level.

"And if this has to do with me," she continued on as if she hadn't heard him, "then I believe I have a right to know about it."

To Rose, none of this was feasible, she was merely poking fun at the pink tint in Scorpius' usually ghostly pallor. She stepped ever closer, leaving little distance between them. An onlooker would have misconstrued the situation, but she didn't care.

Scorpius felt the pooling in his groin as she continued to get closer. He could smell her chamomile and lavender, and he could see the brightness in her eye, the thrill of adventure, she loved watching him squirm.

"And what if it did have something to do with you?" he questioned lowly, trying to turn it on her.

"What do you mean?"

"What would it change? Anything? Or would you still go back to Scamander?" his seriousness was not missed by her this time.

"Is... is that a question I have to ask myself?" she whispered, as she raised one hand to his chest again.

Her touch burned. It did. It felt like hot wax against his chest and he didn't know how to get rid of the burning. He took her hand within his own, and removed it from his chest.

"Stop," he whispered so low she could barely hear him.

"Not if it's because you're afraid," she said pushing herself against him, eliciting a groan from his chest.

"I'm not afraid, Rose," he muttered.

"Then..." she trailed off, hurt.

"This isn't going to happen because of Scamander. This is going to happen because of us. And if or whenever it does happen, he better be the furthest thing from your mind," Scorpius was aware that he had to remove himself from the situation quickly, but she was just standing there in front of him, and he was letting her figure out the entire situation on her own.

He timidly brought his hand forward, resting on her cheek. She still burned, but not in a bad way, it was a fire that had been waiting to be burning for a while and at first he was startled, but he realized he needed the warmth.

"Just figure things out," he said, leaning forward and almost, but not quite kissing her other cheek, before pulling away all together.

His memory never failed him. Even when he was begging for it to falter. The touches seemed all too real, he could relish in them too clearly. It was pain.

After the incident at patrol, they didn't speak for three days. They were not the longest days either of them had lived. On the fourth day, Scorpius sat in his usual spot on their usual couch, and when Rose entered the library with light but present tear stains on her cheeks, he didn't regard them. He knew she wouldn't want that. So he opened his transfiguration book and slowly asked, "How many registered Animagi have there been in the last 100 years?"

She beamed through her tears at him sitting there, still quizzing her. "Seven," she answered.

"And yet again..." he trailed off.

She smiled at him and went to sit on the couch. She pushed open his arms so that she could hug him, by force if necessary. But he accepted. The dull flames licked at his body, but he did not call attention to them. His hands drew circles across her back.

"I think I figured things out," she mumbled against his chest.

"Yeah?" he asked, his breath catching.

"You don't have to worry about Lorcan. You never really did. I told him it wasn't going to work," she spoke into his neck, and he realized they had never been that close before.

"And us?" Scorpius dared to ask.

"We can't tell anyone," she whispered, a slight tone of fear beneath the hushed tones.

"I can live with that," he concluded after considering the possibility.

He could see the hesitance within her blood, the very act of seizing the possibility of being with a Malfoy was against the very core of what she knew. But she was brave. She donned the gold and red with pride. She was taught to be suspicious of his own green and silver. But it did not define him.

He was undefinable.

That night they left for patrols straight from the library. The torches in the corridors flickered as they rounded throughout the school. And when it became late enough, Rose slipped her hand into Scorpius'. He turned to look at her. They were breaching such foreign territory.

He chuckled at her attempts at nonchalance. But he twined his fingers with hers as uncomfortable as he found it to be. Just because he thought it to be useless, didn't mean it meant less.

And when they finished rounds, they walked to Gryffindor tower so that he could see her off. They were quieter than normal, and she was filled with self doubt.

"This is my stop," she said, looking up at him and slipping her hand out of his. And he realized he hadn't been very reassuring, caught up in his own head. And she turned to wake the Fat Lady and give her password, but he stopped her.

"Rose," she turned to look at him.

And he had nothing in particular to say. Just a feeling in the pit of his stomach and a strange absence in his hand.

"I'm sorry," he decided on, "I'm not used to this," he reached out for her waist and pulled her closer so that he felt less like he was talking to an entire hallway. She nodded and stepped closer to him, and he knew what was coming as well as she did.

And he smiled as he leaned down to kiss her, because she made him want to smile. Which was still slightly odd. And still invigorating. And as he got ready to close the distance, her fingers met his lips and she whispered, "hold on."

She took one step away from him before bellowing, "Sir Nicholas, for the love of Dumbledore can I not have one minute to myself?" She whipped around, giving Scorpius a face-full of her untamed red hair.

Only then did he notice the Gryffindor House Ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, tauntingly teetering a few paces to the left of the Fat Lady.

"I'm sorry dear Rosie, I'm just not used to you cavorting around at such late hours with such... questionable company," he said with a side-long glance at Scorpius, who curtly nodded.

"Nick, my company is not questionable, and I think that given my track record I should be allowed five minutes of privacy."

"Your father would not approve," he said with a glint in his eye, but a warning tone.

"Well my father better not know until if and when I choose to tell him, if you catch my drift," she uttered fiercely, but kindly.

"Note taken, Ms. Weasley. But I want you to know that I will be two corridors down, and I will be talking to the Bloody Baron about this," he said with a wink before leaving.

She turned to Scorpius, slightly apologetic. "So, how long do you think this secret thing is going to work?" she sighed. He reached out for her again.

"I say we've got the better part of three weeks," he pulled her into him and she pushed her face into his chest. "Even if he says anything to the Bloody Baron, I know the Baron won't spread the word. It's not like he constantly holds pleasantries with the Fat Fryer."

"Of all the people to gossip about this, it had to be the ghosts," she snickered, lightening the mood.

"Well as long as Peeves doesn't find out, we'll be fine..." he trailed off grinning at the thought.

"Nick wouldn't dare," she firmly stated.

"He certainly didn't seem too fond of me," he said, twirling a lock of her hair lightly.

"Well, if you didn't notice, you're kind of grumpy, sitting there scowling at everyone. Maybe if you cracked a smile, people wouldn't think you were dodgy," she reasoned, reaching up to pat his cheek.

"I'm not grumpy to you," he mumbled.

"Well sometimes, yes you are, but that's fine, I like grumpy," she grinned, and finally reached up to kiss him.

There was a pounding in his ears, as he felt the unmistakable heat of her touch warming him. The kiss was graceless, he wanted her to know that he meant it, that all of the second guessing was just his habit of thinking too much.

He remembered the times when he was with her and didn't have to think at all. And surprisingly, they made it two months without anyone discovering their "relationship."

And when those "anyones" did find out, it was not the end of the world. Everything kept turning. There was gossip and questions and disapproval, but Rose didn't care.

He didn't really worry about anything until the train ride home at the end of 6th year. He knew that her father had heard about their dating, and he knew that he would have to exchange cordial words with the man, especially if he planned on seeing Rose at all throughout the summer.

He sat in the compartment with Albus, Lily, Hugo, and Rose. She was attached at the hip to her family, and he had become rather friendly with all of them as well, apart from Hugo, who refused to approve until his father, Ronald, approved.

The train lurched to a stop at Kings Cross, and Scorpius grabbed both his bag and Rose's. As they stepped off the train, onto the platform, he did not look for his father, but rather followed Rose to her own set of parents. There stood, Ronald and Hermione Weasley with Harry and Ginny Potter who looked pleased but apprehensive.

Rose ran to her father, hugging him tightly, yet Ron's eyes were not focusing on his daughter, but rather the boy dragging her trunk. As Rose separated from her father, Scorpius set down Rose's bag and shook hands with Mr. Weasley.

"Hello, I'm Scorpius," he said, leaving off the Malfoy surname.

"I know who you are," grumbled Ron.

"What my husband means to say is hello and nice to meet you," Mrs. Weasley spoke up, with reservation in her eyes, but not an unkind tone.

"It's nice to meet you as well," he tried not to mumble or look at the ground. He was fairly good at speaking to people, but he could see his father approaching distantly out of the corner of his eye.

"I just figured I ought to come over here, and show you I'm not raving or anything," he tried to lamely justify his actions.

"Not raving like your father, eh?" Ron grimaced.

"Daddy," Rose squeaked, hitting her father brashly on the arm.

"My father is not the man that you knew in school, Mr. Weasley. That being said, no, I do not carry his same prejudices. Or the prejudices of my grandparents," his words were curt, but honest. He knew these were the first words exchanged between them, but he thought it wise to bring everything into the open early on.

"It is important that we all let go of what has happened, and move on," Hermione spoke evenly, glancing at Ron, and then at Harry for reassurance. Harry nodded to her, before stepping closer to Scorpius.

"Glad to meet you Scorpius, sorry that Ronald's got a stick up his arse," he spoke as if talking to an old friend, roughly, and warmly. It threw Scorpius off guard and a puzzled look crossed his features as he reached out to take Harry's hand.

The timing of his father was certainly impeccable, and he saw him five or so paces to his left as he dropped Mr. Potter's hand.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, smiling slightly and dismissing himself from Rose's family. He felt her grab his hand and pull him to face her. And she smiled daringly as she reached up to kiss him goodbye. In front of her father. In front of his father. In front of the wizarding world.

"I'll owl you tonight," he said, parting to meet Draco Malfoy and explain himself.

That summer was a long one. He saw Rose with frequency, flooing to her home with the permission of her mother. And slowly her father came around. Scorpius' own father showed little interest in the matter, not willing to cause a fight over the pureblood name. He was past that. They all were.

Seventh year started how the others did. Except that they were made Head Boy and Girl. It was a coincidence. It wasn't something that you could expect. Except that they easily had the highest marks in their year, and he could see the glint in Professor McGonagall's eye as she showed them to their headquarters.

The year passed. They were stable. They were functioning. They were the couple that no one thought would work. And they did. Instead of studying in the library, they studied in their living room. Slowly the school started seeing a smile on Scorpius' face.

But the safety of school would not encompass them forever.

The last few months at Hogwarts proved to be more stressful. Albus was constantly in the head dorms, playing chess with Scorpius, and Rose was comforting Lily, assuring her she wouldn't be alone the next year. Scorpius and Rose didn't have as much alone time.

And some nights Rose would refuse to let Lily enter, and Scorpius would change the password briefly so that he could have moments with Rose uninterrupted by Albus.

"Next year is going to be real, isn't it?" she asked him in a hushed whisper, curled onto the same couch that James and Lily Potter (the first) had once spoken the same conversation.

"Yes. Reality. Knew that would catch up with us."

"You're doing that internship with the ministry, aren't you?" she asked, knowing full well Scorpius had been offered a job in the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

"Yes. I don't really know what else I'd do," he was looking at it practically. She knew that.

"I'm talking to McGonagall about beginning positions with teaching. I figure I'd like to be a professor. These hallways always did feel like my home," she reasoned.

"Have you had any luck?" he wondered aloud.

"Well, McGonagall does think I could have a future here, although she thinks I need further mastery of a particular subject. She suggested I acquire a mentor to apprentice, and that she expects a fully prepared intern in five years," Rose chuckled a bit, imagining the curt way McGonagall had pronounced her answer.

"And what subject?" he asked, thinking he rather knew the answer.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'd guess. I can't really imagine doing anything else," she sighed, knowing that her uptake on the subject would meddle into his family history.

"Then you'd be shadowing your uncle Harry?" he asked trying to keep the slight dread out of his voice.

"More than likely. He's a great wizard. Best in his field. It's not my fault he just so happens to be my father's best friend and my uncle. McGonagall actually suggested him if I was serious about my request," there was little evidence of defense in her voice, but Scorpius could sense it.

"What about charms? You're effervescently good at charms."

"Charms is not a passion, it's something that comes in handy when you don't want to take the time to do something the proper way," she insisted.

"Fine. Defense Against the Dark Arts it is."

"Why does that trouble you?"

"Why did you know it would trouble me before you asked?" he countered, knowing full well she understood his situation.

"Scorpius, I'm sorry," she tried.

"Understand my frustration, Rose. You'll be teaching about how awful my family has been, and I get it. I do. I just can't help think that you'll be reiterating the one thing that splits us apart," he looked away and she realized she had stepped on toes.

"But you defy it. You go against everything that they had preached. You're the light side of the dark arts," she whispered, taking his hand.

"But Rose, I don't think of my father as the dark. He made a mistake, because of my grandfather. Still, I don't hate them. It's everything they were told, just because they couldn't break the mold doesn't mean that I think they're bad people."

"I don't think your father is a bad person. Not at all, you know I don't. I've been to your home. He has served me dinner. Really nice soup for dinner," she grinned.

He tried to shrug it off. But he knew it wouldn't go away. Not really.

They constantly spoke of the future, Rose refusing to let it go, Scorpius refusing to lay it out in the open. It wasn't decided whether they would stay together or whether they should consider getting a joint apartment, being as they'd already lived together for a year. These were questions Rose wanted answers to and that Scorpius couldn't fully grasp.

And he was still attracted to her. In the same way that he had been as a 15 year old. Only now, she wasn't a distant figure, she was a body that was warmly close, that he could kiss and touch, but never fully have. It wasn't like other girls. It wasn't as primal.

She couldn't deny that he made her shake when he wanted to drive her crazy. She had held out for a year and a half, but she could feel her will power breaking. She had never had sex with Scorpius, not because of morals or lack of trust or hidden fear. It was much simpler than that: she never really knew how to approach it.

As of late he'd been distant and if not cold, than slight. She knew her significance in his life, but she wasn't sure if he recognized it in the same way. N.E.W.T.s were approaching and Scorpius was never seen without a book. Every time Rose entered a room, he would smile and say, "ask me anything," and she would and he would always know the answer. It would be impressive if she didn't know how hard he worked for it.

And one particular night, not unlike the rest, she sat in her bedroom, clad in only a long ratty Chudley Canons t-shirt, hair wet from a shower. And she knew on the other side of her door, Scorpius was studying one of the many subjects in which he wanted to excel.

She opened her door, ever so slightly, peering at the boy whose tie was thrown on the floor, shirt untucked, unbuttoned to his chest, and she wondered what he would think when he saw her own apparel. They were far past getting primped for one another.

"Scorpius," she whispered, stepping out of the room, bearing her long legs and long hair which clashed with her t-shirt.

"Hello love," he said, glancing up, chuckling at her appearance and then returning to his transfiguration book. She perched on the arm of the couch waiting for his usual question. It didn't come.

"Aren't you going to ask me something?" she edged.

"Was I supposed to as you something?"

"Well, this is about the time when I come to talk to you and in order to avoid an actual discussion you ask me to quiz you in school so that you can distract yourself from the fact that I am becoming the obnoxiously needy girlfriend I always said that I would never be," she looked at him, flustered.

He caught her eyes and was concerned with her spew. He closed his book and stared at her, "I remember a girl who used to ask me to quiz her all the time."

"I remember a boy who used to tell me there was no point because I always knew the answers."

"Maybe I feel like I don't always know the answer, Rose," and then they weren't talking about school, it was just unsettled issues that played out in her head.

"Maybe I'm not the answer anymore," she said. His illusion of her was beginning to fail.

"Rose, that's not what I said and that's not what I meant. If there is one thing that I'm certain of it's you. What I'm not certain of anymore is that you... I mean, we... We are not everything anymore."

Their corner of the world was disappearing before his very eyes.

"I'm not sure what we'll be next year Scorpius, or this summer, or in ten years, but right now, at least for this moment, can you please pretend that I'm everything?" she whispered.

He hurt her. It was never his intention. She was the girl who used to stare at him through bookshelves, the girl who managed to raise her hand a fraction before his own, she was the girl who completely intrigued him against his own nature. Sure, he could remember that.

And he opened his arms to her. And she crawled off the arm of the chair and into his body, curling there, and willing him to want her. She looked up at him, a sparkle in her eye, not of hurt this time, but want. She pulled him to her, and she let his lips unceremoniously crash into hers. He could tell this time was not like the others.

There was a fight. It was all he recognized in the way her eyes seemed to be filled with liquid fire. And her hair was more crimson than he remembered. He lowered his head, sucking at her collar bone, trying to gauge her response. She threw her arms around his neck fervently and she trembled. He laid her down, and pulled away only to look at her closer.

"I'm so afraid," she whispered.

"Of this?" he asked.

"Of tomorrow. Of the day after that. I'm afraid everyday," she relinquished the words.

"I don't understand," he admitted, resting his hand next to her face.

"It's the challenge. I love you, because you make me feel more scared every time I look at you. In the minute that you feel fear, your life is real. You are the challenge I always wanted to win," and she didn't say the words to make him feel cheap, to her they were genuine.

"I love you too," was all he said before kissing her soundly.

That night was the first, but not the last time Scorpius had sex with Rose.

It was not a victory, the fight they were fighting. There was no win or lose. It was everlasting. And as he looked back on it, he knew the losses were no greater than the gains, but the images hurt the worst.

As their final week at Hogwarts approached, and N.E.W.T.s ended, and they began to pack their things, Scorpius was living inside his head. He saw the clothes being folded, watched as the bedspreads were tucked away, he heard the cries of goodbyes being flung in every stagnant moment, but all he could do was capture the images inside his head.

Suddenly they had no days left, and Rose stood hopelessly in the middle of their emptying room, desperate for him to look at her and tell her something.

He didn't know what to say.

"What do you want, Scorpius?" she asked, reaching out for his hand like second nature. He knew she was the only picture to color his hours.

"I want this," he said, gesturing to her and the room and the sadness that neither of them could admit.

"We're going home Scorpius. We're done here at Hogwarts, and I want to know what you want of me," she wanted to live with him, she wanted to grow old with him, wanted to always know him better than her own mind.

"I want to fight for something," he said. He didn't know what he meant. He didn't know how it applied. But he knew it was honest.

"I'm not making you fight anymore Scorpius, I'm making you decide, whether you want me to walk out of the door and not look back, or whether you want to walk inside of a new door with me," she said the words and didn't think about them.

Reasoning failed him. He wanted to grasp her and tell her that making him choose wasn't fair. That the only time he could feel anything was when he was pushed. That letting him stand, staring at her, was not helping her cause. Because if she walked out of the room he would chase her. But if she kept staring at him, he would have to look away.

"If you walk away, I'll follow you," was all he could come up with.

"What if I stay right here?" she asked.

"Then I hope you'll follow me," he answered.

She didn't.

They left Hogwarts. A month passed. Six months. A year. Time was passing, and he sat in an apartment waiting for someone to follow him. And no one did.

His head was boggled by the images. Red. Blue. Violent lights. Burning skin.

He wasn't forgetting. He wasn't fighting. He was rotting.

In his hand was a slip of parchment that he found on the top of his trunk as he had unpacked in Malfoy Manor the day after they left Hogwarts. It was the last words he would remember of her.

"_The fight for you is all I've ever known._"

All that he was, lived in the moments of the fight. But he wasn't sure that the fight was worth loosing the challenge.

So he looked her up. And he followed her. Even if it wasn't what she wanted. He sent an owl for her at her parent's house, where McGonagall told him she still lived, doing what she wanted, interning for Potter.

"_For me it wasn't about the fight. It was about the images. The last of which is you watching me walk away. And if you're still sitting there, I am too. I never walked out of that room_."

And when she received the owl. Read the words. Mulled them over. She turned up at his doorstep, holding a note in her hand, one that she figured she should deliver in person. He opened the door wordlessly. She reached out the slip of paper, trying her best not to react to the sight of him.

"_Consider this note my way of following you_."

He looked up at her, hair pulled back, eyes too red, and shoulders shaking. She wasn't pitiful. She was brilliant and bold.

"I never should have left in the first place," he whispered.

"I never should have let you."

And it was remembered from then on, that he hadn't walked away, and that she hadn't stagnantly watched. There were some fights that needed to be ceased, and some images that needed to be burned.

And in a pit of vast images, she was all the fire he needed.

**A/N**

**I haven't posted in about two years. It doesn't feel like it's been that long. That being said, my writing has progressed a lot, and so has my taste in writing. So, I hope you got something out of this. And if you did, go ahead and leave a review. I'd enjoy it. Thanks for the great stories from all the writers out there, it's the only reason I ever have the motivation to post my own stories. **


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